people gather around and talk about it and get to know different cultures. that brings people together and i hope more off the grid style and people can mingle and interact and remove all our differences and work on our similarities. this creates opportunity. >> the time has come and i am very hungry. what have you got? >> i got this from on the go, a sandwich, and a caramel cupcake. i went with home cooking. what de think? >> i will have another bite. >> sounds good.

>> that was fantastic. let's start with you. >> i had the fried mac and cheese, and twinkies. i wanted to get something kind of classic with a twist on it. >> it was crispy. >> i will admit. >> want to try fieried mac and cheese? >> was that the best twinkie? >> would you say you had the winning male? >> definitely. >> no. >> you are the "chompion." clair has won.

you are the first "chompion." >> they know it iwas me because i got a free meal. and check a map on -- check them out on facebook. take a peek at the stuff we have cut. to get our -- check out our blog. i will have >> hello. you're watching the show that explores san francisco's love affair with food.

there are at least 18 farmers markets in san francisco alone, providing fresh and affordable to year-round. this is a great resource that does not break the bank. to show just how easy it can be to do just that, we have come up with something called the farmers' market challenge. we find someone who loves to cook, give them $20, and challenge them to create a delicious meal from ingredients found right here in the farmer's market. who did we find for today's challenge? >> today with regard to made a pot greater thanchapino. >> you only have $20 to spend. >> i know peter it is going to be tough, but i think i can do it. it is a san francisco classic. we are celebrating bay area

food. we have nice beautiful plum tomatoes here. we have some beautiful fresh fish here. it will come together beautifully. >> many to cut out all this talk, and let's go shop. yeah. ♪ >> what makes your dish unique? >> i like it spicy and smoky. i will take fresh italian tomatoes and the fresh seafood, and will bring them to other with some nice spoked paprika and some nice smoked jalapeno peppers. i am going to stew them up and get a nice savory, smoky, fishy, tomatoy, spicy broth. >> bring it on.

how are you feeling? >> i feel good. i spent the $20 and have a few pennies less. i am going to go home and cook. i will text message u.n. is done. >> excellent and really looking forward to it. >> today we're going to make the san francisco classic dish invented by italian and portuguese fishermen. it'll be like a nice spaghetti sauce. then we will put in the fish soup. the last thing is the dungeon as crab, let it all blend together. it will be delicious. when i could, i will try to make healthy meals with fresh ingredients, whatever is in season and local. those juicy, fresh tomatoes will take about an hour to cook down into a nice sauce. this is a good time to make our fish stock. we will take a step that seems like trash and boil it up in water and make a delicious and they speed up my parents were great clerics, and we had wonderful food. family dinners are very important. any chance you can sit down

together and have a meal together, it is great communal atmosphere. one of the things i like the most is the opportunity to be creative. hello. anybody with sets their mind to it can cut. always nice to start chopping some vegetables and x and the delicious. all this double in view is this broth with great flavor. but your heart into it. make something that you, family, and friends will really enjoy. >> i am here with a manager at the heart of the city farmer's market in san francisco. thank you for joining us. tell us a little bit about the organization. >> we're 30 years old now. we started with 14 farmers, and it has grown out to over 80. >> what is the mission of the organization? >> this area has no grocery store spiller it is all mom-and- pop stores. we have this because it is needed. we knew it was needed.

and the plaza needed somebody. it was empty. beautiful with city hall in the background. >> thank you for speaking with us. are you on the web? >> yes, hocfarmersmarket.org. >> check them out. thank you. >> welcome. the dish is ready. >> it looks and smells amazing. >> thank you. it was not easy to meet the $20 budget. i checked everybody out and found some great produce. really lovely seafood. i think that you are going to love it. >> do not be shy. cyou know this can run you $35 to $45 for a bowl, so it is great you did this for $20. >> this will feed four to six people. >> not if you invite me over for

dinner. i am ready to dig in. >> i hope you'll love it. >> mmm. >> what do you think? >> i think i am going to need more. perhaps you can have all you want. >> i am produce the that you have crushed this farmer's market challenge by a landslide. the first, we're going to have to tally of your shopping list and see what you actually spend that the farmer's market. >> and go for it. >> incredible. you have shown us how to make super healthy, refresh chapino from the farmers market on the budget, that for the whole family. that is outstanding. >> thank you peter i am glad that you like it. i think anybody can do it. >> if you like the recipe for this dish, you can e-mail us at

sfgtv@sfgov.org or reach out to us on facebook or twitter and we >> hi and welcome back to authors who make you think. i appreciate you wanting to think on a beautiful saturday afternoon. 8 years ago in the ban shell at golden gate park.

jonathan, one of our readers was there. 20 readers and 8 afternoons and now there are venues around the city. i will read a few poems. the first one is, after the bleeding. it was inspired by 2 photos that were in the san francisco chronicle in june 2005. the first, i will read the captions. photo captions. and follow with the poem. children watch as police collect pieces of bodies from a suicide bombing. front page photo caption san francisco chronicle june 14, 2005. >> the not guilty verdicts in the michael jackson trial. front page photo caption, san francisco chronicle june 14,

2005. after the bleeding the blood spattered walls draw the gaze of children wanting to see what has caused such a noise. how can they not stair. arms and legs, pieces of torso scattered, the smell of new death and feared hair. they must be asking the same question. a person who blows themselves up must believe in something. must believe in something or else not. hopelessness degreesed in apnigzs, righteousness disguised in a tuxedo of death much the children don't understand. i being of the dead dying man the bleeding bystanders who left to buy cheese or tobacco. in car bombs suicide bombs and we keep talking as though this will end like the final judgment

of that black man who looks white and sleeps with boys but doesn't touch them. after the bleeding the children's shoes will be forever stained in the crimson color of death. who will set the doves free then. >> the next is sdaefrt on the horizon. i'm sure many of you have seen or heard regularly in the news. my father came from iran so every time i see those headlines and get an article in my e mail i have this moment of panic thinking about my family members in iran who might be the next victims of this terrible war administration this is, disaster on the horizon.

it begins with words. daggers of men who bleed their nations of hope kill any promise. here is war, a bag full of hate posturing angry man rhetoric unleashing disaster on the horizon. war has no face like a genie it doesn't go back in the bottle. the witchary gives nothing it is a tornado that sucks up life, spits out ashes and broken minds i can feel in my bones. near as anyone who's face i see who's eyes i hold tight fixod this comp us i see the war coming breaking lose in the mouths. they are monsters who can't see the people who will weep. they're are creators of the destruction that begins on the tongue and ends in the cold eyes of tomorrow. [applause] >> last year, i read 9 stories

in my allotted 6 minutes this year i thought i would be ambitious and do 10. first is called cosmology. after they learned that the universe was a mass produced toy tossed by a goddess they no longer wondered by laws was sure in the clockwork in a wind up bird were shot with uncertainties. optimists contributed the reason to the fact that the toy was broken. pessimists acknowledged this. but insistd that in it's broken state could the cosmos belong to those who lives within. the goddess grown found the universe under board games in a closet. she did not give it to her children. she did not have it fixed by her

husband instead slipping away now and then from her family she delighted in the haphazard way it ran. the release in her life. >> the next one is entitled. explanation. twisted tree branches explain exactly themselves. the next is called, a simple story. his love was too simple. if he met a woman who imagined what it would it be like to be her husband. he learned she was already attached. if she did interest in him he would bring her fresh oranges. she'd leave him certain that no man could love truly to such scant evidence. his evidence was not meager he

was not trying to judge her. his love was too simple and he belonged to her simply if her love was as simple as his. immigration. their final night together before she had to go back home, she clung to him as if he were a mighty sclif and between them and morning was an awful abyss. as they slept though neither felt it happening by dawn not even their finger tips were touching. he shivered and reached for her. the woman's hazy blue ice opened one at a time they took a while to focus when they did they appeared not to be looking at his skin but surveying a foreign land. >> this is called, regrets.

if only she known as on her deathbed she would not find the love of her life she would have reached the same great age but never have lived. next is retirement. the pampered old cat slept day and night happily dreaming about napping. [laughter] and slightly shorter than that called, quartery. >> the bug that crawled across the key board didn't leave word. the next story is a second chance. after their myth was written, echo was permitted to mayor nar sisz who spurned herrode to be shunned by his own cold reflection. she tried not to fret that

vanity diminished him. what would have been the thrill and mystery thrilled her nippled body leaving a mockary of a voice. she carried him back to her cavern, still, there lives together was wanting and not only because in their condition they had trouble conceiving children. they became astranged though she longed to give him everything and he was eager to take it all. each sought the other through a different mirror. >> called : what happened happened. and finally. [laughter] a story called terminals. in the last moment of his life,

time slowed and slowed to a halt. no longer pressed as he has been in youth he strolled the youth on foot and thought over every thought. love and war and stars he grabbed the meaning of it all as a whole. he yearned to share what he knew. though that lived on and might have learned moved to a future where his still voice would not be heard. thank you. [applause] >> hello. i'm going to read a scene from draining the sea coming out in march. it takes place in guatemala during the 80's. this is a scene from the polytechnic the tick cal school where they would take the disappeared. emanuel for the americas.

we are inside the basement of the polytechnic and i'm admiring the bone is thattedose that your heal bone makes in the sunlight in the palms of my hand in my mind. when you come to my bed your hands and breath is sweet and we can love like this for hours. i can find christ in your body. this too must be constructed and killed bike on television with pain and blood that's beautiful like a red refer. you made me into a woman and i surend erred into it a man-made into a woman and returned. but you don't want to my bed this is the metal cloth you are chained to in the polytechnic. and i do we do it slowly with timed extensions of christ, his face removed and his penis removed the maggets and the

wounds the teeth and hair weeks before he is your christ in the black pit with you. each day becomes eternity of days the sun never sets or rises the light bulb on a wire as i burn you 117 times with my cigarettes while the other guards have gone out for a meal beef stake tomatoes and red wines then i will ask for your for giveness. you look at me or rather you stair at me, make a picture on my eyelids and my disks covering my ice to the pupils through the tinted lenses. i wear the sun glasses in the room so this look a stair i have said, and a beast looks from his

bodied cage where pain is made to a commodity of sugary things. your head pulled from the basin of water your breath can make me into our god but a god without rivers a god without shadows shadow lonely on his thrown making you look more the whore. i whisper into the hole beneath the cracked blood and bonus. is it possible for me to also be saved? you begin wretching the vomit heaths you up from the cot where you were held by the chain you cannot stop the wretching continuing shaking of your arms. the hands not removed yet. i take the bottle of wine which i have been drinking and toss it down your throat as you begin

crying like a child. crying but not speaking to me you remind me of my black self. tears and your mouth a gap like a bird as i put the wine in your mouth and we drink the rest of it together. the unsainted god the sobbing girl there in the dark i hold you closely and we are like lovers. your ear shells on the floor next to my booted feet. my own hands handy work. after work i will have these specimens saved. i go to a tax dermist shop when the man gives a look of hear when i pull out the ear shells. he refused to do it. i return it later and unmake his look say, i will never do it

again your ear shells forgotten in the trash bin of the polytechnic where i toss them of history. days later i'm convinced i see one hand carried by a rat. seeking the traces of your body and the animals is this not a form of transcendence my darling. a downward rising the maggets small white gods like an animal mob. you did not answer my question with the language we used between us you vomited and stared into the lenses i wore to cover my pupils to keep some things in and some things out plastic screens. was it not possible to make love in that space. i could save you and i do make

an essay and listened and obeyed. i hoped to carry your ear shell with me. i read the manual from beginning to end a manual for the master's and the slaves much the master hates the slave. not the [inaudible] we would like your spirit. it is what we seek in the dark pits of the capital. what else could be accomplished or desired. the speaking the words i make you utter all of the language we use between us this not what i'm after. i will not pretend. information like a dog and we beat and kill the dog, no it's you i want that with held piece. what shall i call it except love. why cant you give it to me? why? even at the end the pit's death defeated you it howls in the

night even then when your vagina has been opened like a ripe plum. why? how? do you still with hold it from me. i'm only a man after all and i cannot live without it a school boy of these americas. thank you. [applause] >> take us to the back woods of georgia where i believe it's the first week of hunting season. in 1955, the spanish explorer desocietio arrived in south that >> with wild pigs in tow. in 2004 in georgia a 12 foot, hundred thousand pound pig was killed. it's unclear whether this pig, hog zila got that big while grazing in the wild or whether he was fed peanuts farm fed or

43 range. when the pigs flair a griffin was asked why he had to shoot the pig. griffin said, because i couldn't believe it was so big. i grew up 20 miles away in a town that put martin luther king in jail for a few nights in 1963. when they heard the story of hog zila i wondered why people killed things they don't understand. i would like to read hog zila this is the first timei've read this part one is what i'm reading today. killer of kid and faun, muddy wallower trichinosis and tick. trap smart, nonnative gar gant wan flea bag you root in the oak brush of bogs and swamp.

if we killed you now, hog zila, if we took aim for your belly with our cross bow or laser sight and pulled a trigger or let a tripped arrow rip through the night air there wouldn't be a story to tell. while we lay and wait for you to appear, chewing our ciao and the fat lit up on beer, lit up on the last of the evening light. we will harness you in speech, laszo you with language and make you bleed like the common pig you were before all this celebrity. in dreams you are bigger than you will ever be. you must be made to suffer for your mystery. the origin of hogzila. are you spawn of desoto men? long snouted do your upper tusks

sharpen the lower. or did you escape from an aptwau son of a son injected with gonad troepin. black tusks and tell tall tale. did your thousand pound body weigh less filtering out of your brilliant nostrils uncontained as a new myth. your solitary except for one season. your domestic kin it's unfairly for them. your untoward piglets 3 times a year, careless love that's ugly and stinky and don't look smart much the ghost of